


Set Our Watches Forward, like We're Just Arriving Here

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, M/M, Post-Split
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan had forgotten how easily Spencer could see through him, sometimes, and when Spencer hadn't walked away, had listened and nodded and said <i>okay, okay. I'll talk to Brendon, we'll work it out</i>, somehow it had turned into this, Ryan's fingers digging into Spencer's palm in the elevator, the both of them slightly sweaty and a little bit scared, holding on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Our Watches Forward, like We're Just Arriving Here

"Wait," Spencer says, pulling back, mouth hanging open slightly. His fingers slide out of Ryan with a thick, wet sound. "Wait, _what_?"

"Don't--fuck you," Ryan says, pushing back against Spencer a little with a murderous expression. "Don't stop, you asshole, come back here."

"You're kidding," Spencer says flatly. He sits back on his heels, glaring. "Tell me you're kidding."

"Fine, I'm kidding," Ryan says. "Can we please get on with this?" Spencer looks at Ryan carefully. Ryan's still flushed, panting a little, but there's a smear of red high on his cheeks. Ryan's good at lying, good at hiding his tells but Spencer's known him long enough to know when he's actually embarrassed, to know that when Ryan gets prickly and defensive over something it usually means he's telling the truth.

"Shit," Spencer says softly, his stomach swooping a little. The only light in the room is coming from the overhead lamp attached to the headboard, the sky outside the hotel window neon and bruised. It's as dark as it ever gets in L.A, which is to say, not very. Spencer doesn't look at anything besides Ryan, knows if he looks around the room he'll only see a nameless hotel suite, their clothing scattered across the floor in discarded heaps.

(It's not like Spencer didn't know this was a bad idea from the start. Ryan had curled his fingers around Spencer's wrist in the restaurant; they had been slightly damp, cold from the condensation still clinging to his second gin-and-tonic, and Spencer had let him. Spencer had listened while Ryan mumbled short, sharp statements about Jon and Brendon and the four of them, scattering phrases like _musical differences_ and _creative roadblock_ through his strings of disjointed sentences like so many thumbtacks, subtle digs designed to push Spencer away from the table, designed to get Ryan what he wanted. Ryan had forgotten how easily Spencer could see through him, sometimes, and when Spencer hadn't walked away, had listened and nodded and said _okay, okay. I'll talk to Brendon, we'll work it out_, somehow it had turned into this, Ryan's fingers digging into Spencer's palm in the elevator, the both of them slightly sweaty and a little bit scared, holding on.)

"Whatever," Ryan says, blushing harder, glowering at Spencer like it's _his_ fault Ryan didn't say anything before this. "Fuck you, fine, see if I care." Ryan starts fumbling under the covers, obviously looking for his underwear, and Spencer grabs his wrist, pushing him back down to the bed. It's awkward, ungainly, and Spencer loses his balance almost immediately, causing them both to end up in a tangled heap. Ryan makes a frustrated noise and tries to roll away.

"Hey," Spencer says, shifting so he can pin Ryan in place. "Hey, hey. Ry. C'mon, look at me."

"Fuck you," Ryan says again. He's keeping his head turned to the side, not making eye contact. "It's not a big deal."

"It's usually the sort of thing you tell someone beforehand," Spencer says, a little strained. "I thought that you--"

"I did," Ryan says, soft and fierce. "We did, I wasn't lying, it's just, I never--did that."

"Oh," Spencer says. He thinks back to long, long nights on their early tours, Ryan ambling in boneless and sated just as the sky became light and Spencer had just--assumed. Spencer pulls back a little, shaking his head. "Look, maybe this isn't such a--"

"You _fucker_," Ryan hisses, "See this, _this_ is why I didn't tell you earlier."

"You can't just," Spencer says, pained. "Ryan, we're in a _hotel_. You're _drunk_."

"I had two drinks with dinner, and that was hours ago, I'm not fucking drunk," Ryan says, "and I don't give a shit if we're in a hotel."

"But," Spencer says.

"Shut _up_," Ryan says, leaning up on his elbows to kiss Spencer, hard and messy, biting at Spencer's lips until Spencer relents and lets him in. "You don't get to decide this for me," Ryan says, after he pulls away. Spencer looks down at Ryan and he looks fierce, determined, like this is something he has to push through to get to the other side and that's--No. Spencer's not down with that. He's trying not to read into everything too much, trying not to come to the very obvious conclusion that they're doing this here and now because from now on they won't have to see each other in the morning. He's not anyone's cheap goodbye fuck, and especially not Ryan's.

Spencer lowers himself down a little, lets his weight rest on Ryan's hips and thighs and chest, covers him with his body until he can feel Ryan's muscles relax. Ryan's still licking into Spencer's mouth, squirming a little beneath him, but Spencer just strokes a hand down Ryan's side and waits, long firm passes that leave Ryan increasingly lax and boneless.

After a little while, Spencer pulls back.

They breathe.

Ryan's ribcage rises and falls underneath Spencer's, a slight staccato beat that's just barely off from the rhythm of Spencer's breathing. Ryan knocks his ankle against Spencer's and his weird, bony toes brush against his instep. His expression is inscrutable, even to Spencer. Spencer leans down and tucks his face into the hollow between Ryan's shoulder and his neck, because Ryan's still too far away, and soon they're both going to be farther still. A car horn trills somewhere below the window, sharp and insistent, and Ryan shifts underneath him.

"Spence," Ryan says, "I didn't mean--"

"I know," Spencer says.

"I just," Ryan says, and there's no inflection in his voice but he's shaking, just a little. Spencer wonders how much it took to get Ryan here tonight, if he'd almost turned and walked out the door like Spencer did. Spencer could blame it all on Ryan and he's sure he will, at some point, when he's pissed off and lonely and frustrated, but they've all been able to see the writing on the wall for a while now, the fragmentation that occurs when not talking leads to not showing up to practice leads to yelling leads to not talking again. Maybe it's just that Ryan's the one who's never afraid to say _fuck it_ and start over.

"It's fine," Spencer says, and moves to get up. "It's not a big deal, we're--whatever. It's fine."

"No," Ryan says, sharply. "Fuck you, no. You're not leaving like this."

"Like what?" Spencer says, tiredly. He's standing naked in the middle of the room, trying to find his pants, and he doesn't want to have this conversation right now, just wants to go home and forget this whole clusterfuck of a night until tomorrow, until he flies back home and tells Brendon he needs to start writing all of his own lyrics. "Ryan--"

"No," Ryan says, and stands up, crossing the room and leaning in, framing Spencer's face in his hands. Spencer's hands come to rest on Ryan's hips and Ryan tips his forehead into Spencer's, biting his lip and looking down for a long moment. He looks worn out, spread too thin, and Spencer pulls him a little closer without thinking. "Just stay," Ryan murmurs. "Just tonight, just...stay here." It's a few minutes before he adds "with me" on a breath, but Spencer's kissing him and the words slip out between their lips unnoticed.

Spencer sucks in a breath, surprised, and when Ryan turns his head to the side Spencer pulls him back and kisses him, soft and slow. Ryan's humming a little beneath his hands and it feels like all the edges, all the sharpness between them are fading away. It doesn't feel quite so much like fighting, anymore, even though Spencer's still angry and he's still tired. Ryan sucks a little just under Spencer's ear, tongue lapping gently where he'd already sucked a bruise into Spencer's skin earlier and Spencer shivers and guides them back towards the bed.

Ryan stretches out underneath him, curling his toes a little and tipping his head back when Spencer trails a slow path down with his mouth. Ryan's knee is digging into Spencer's thigh and he gets a flash of a memory, sharp and perfect: Ryan kicking the end of his bunk irritably in his first real tour bus, complaining that he couldn't stretch his legs out all the way. Brendon had stretched out obnoxiously just across the narrow corridor, sighing with pleasure and more than a little schadenfreude at Ryan's disgruntled expression. It hurts, a little, an ache that became old and tired without Spencer even realizing it but then Ryan arches, seeking more contact, and Spencer just wants to forget because they're here, now, whatever here is.

"You want to," Spencer mumbles, tasting the sweat on Ryan's collarbone under his tongue, and Ryan says "Yeah, yeah, c'mon," shifting underneath him, rutting up a little into Spencer's thigh.

"It's easier if you're on your stomach," Spencer says, sliding a hand under Ryan's hip to flip them over but Ryan holds on tight, resisting. "No," Ryan breathes out, arching a little when Spencer bites down. "No, want to see you."

"What if we," Spencer says, and rolls over on his side, pulling Ryan along with him and shifting him so they're pressed up tightly together, Spencer's nose tucked in the patch of skin just under Ryan's hairline. Spencer rubs his hand over Ryan's hipbone and Ryan sucks in a breath, spreading his legs a little, tilting his head back against Spencer.

"Yeah?" Spencer asks, and Ryan reaches down, linking his fingers with Spencer's briefly and squeezing before releasing them. "Yeah," Ryan says. Spencer's hand is still slick from before, smearing faint trails across Ryan's skin but he fumbles behind himself anyway, popping the cap on the lube one handed. He's not taking any chances.

Ryan sighs and parts his legs further when Spencer trails one hand down the small of his back. He shivers a little when Spencer strokes him, gently, and it's not quite like it was earlier, confused and rushed with the jarring awareness of too much left unspoken, the faint taste of gin sharp on Ryan's tongue.

"Come on," Ryan says again, a little rough, when Spencer doesn't move quite fast enough. "Before, it was good, I--" The rest of the sentence is lost, a jumbled string of consonants and vowels. Spencer kisses the back of Ryan's neck, working his fingers gently, tracing around the rim with his thumb. Ryan pushes back into him after a moment, shifting his hips so he's controlling the movement, working himself on Spencer's fingers. "Fuck," Ryan says, a little brokenly, and Spencer shudders, because _God_. Ryan's hot and tight around him and it's so strange to think he's never done this with anyone else, that no one's ever seen him quite like this, slowly working himself open. It makes something fierce and protective burn low in Spencer's chest.

"More," Ryan says, impatient, and he whines a little when Spencer slides a third finger in. Spencer hooks his leg around Ryan's, pulling him in closer, and he can feel the tension in Ryan's lower back, the way the muscles catch under his skin. Ryan's panting, mouth open and slick as he pushes back against Spencer's hand. Spencer crooks his fingers and Ryan jerks against him, swearing under his breath.

"I want," Ryan says, the words slurring together slightly. "I want, Spence, please, come on--"

"Yeah," Spencer says, and slowly slides his fingers out, arranging both of them so Ryan's on his back, legs splayed over Spencer's thighs. Ryan makes a displeased noise and then wiggles himself closer, hooking his ankles behind Spencer's back. Spencer reaches down and fists himself slowly, just watching as Ryan looks up at him, his chest still heaving slightly. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a thick tangle against the pillow and Spencer can admit to himself he's spent a lot of time thinking about this, imagining what it would be like, if _maybe_, maybe. None of his idle fantasies actually compare.

Spencer reaches over the side of the bed, digging in his jeans until he finds a condom. His hands are slippery and it takes him a few tries to get it open, but before he can get it out Ryan's has a hand on his wrist.

"We don't need it," Ryan says,

"Uh," Spencer says. "Um, what, when did you..."

"Two weeks ago," Ryan says, and his eyes are large and dark in the muted light. "Spencer, I'm clean, I wouldn't lie to you about that shit."

"We should still," Spencer says, because he believes Ryan, he does, maybe he shouldn't, but he does. It's more that he can't even remember the last time he fucked someone without a condom. Spencer is a big believer in 'better safe than sorry,' especially when he's fucking one of his best friends. Ryan's hand tightens on his wrist. "Want to feel you," Ryan says, softly, and Spencer swallows hard. Ryan's cheeks are pink and he's biting his lip a little but he's not breaking eye contact; Spencer wonders when he got so brave.

"Okay," Spencer says, dropping the condom over the side of the bed, sliding his hand down and slipping two fingers back in, opening Ryan back up. Ryan whines, urging him closer, and Spencer pulls his fingers out, still holding Ryan open while he guides himself in.

Ryan's breathing hard, shaky and uncertain and Spencer wants to tell him to relax but he can't think, for a moment. Ryan is hot and tight and overwhelming around him, the soft slide of skin on skin and Spencer slides a hand under the small of Ryan's back, trying to get him to relax into it.

"Fuck," Ryan says, brokenly, on the end of a tiny sob, and it's enough to jar Spencer's brain into some sort of response, enough to lean over and mutter wordless, soothing nonsense. They aren't moving but Ryan's still tense, muscles locked up and Spencer strokes at Ryan's hips with both hands, digging his thumbs into the sharp muscles. He can feel the way it gets Ryan to stop clenching so much, the way his body relaxes fraction by slow, mediated fractions. "Okay?" Spencer says, breathless and Ryan nods, pushing back experimentally; Spencer slides in a little deeper and they both groan.

"Move," Ryan says, and Spencer pulls out just a little, long, slow strokes that have Ryan rocking his hips into Spencer's, eyes wide and mouth just slightly open. It's so quiet that Spencer can hear the rustle of the sheets under Ryan's back, the way Ryan's breath catches when Spencer circles his hips and pushes in deep and slow. Ryan's legs are still wrapped around him, slightly slick from the sweat between their bodies, and Spencer waits until Ryan lets out a long breath, until he's lax and boneless underneath Spencer to push Ryan's legs gently toward his stomach.

Ryan gasps a little at the new angle, pushing back against Spencer and Spencer tries to breathe around the pounding of his heart in his chest. He's holding himself tightly, trying so hard to make it good for Ryan, but it feels like he's been hovering just on the edge forever and he's not sure how much longer he can hold on. Ryan's fisting himself slowly as Spencer fucks him and Spencer speeds up a little, watching as Ryan's hand tightens on his dick and feeling him clench around him. Spencer reaches down and cups Ryan's balls, stroking lower until he can feel where Ryan's stretched around him, pushing Ryan's legs up a little higher so he can see.

"Spence," Ryan pants out, and his voice is strained, rough at the edges. "Fuck, more, just--harder, something." Spencer bites his lip, letting go and fucking Ryan in earnest, groaning when Ryan jerks underneath him, his breath coming in broken pants as his legs tense up and the hand flying over his cock slows down, pulling his orgasm out as he shakes. Spencer's trying, but he can't quite hold on after that--Ryan's hot and tight around him, aftershocks making him clench down rhythmically on Spencer's cock. Spencer thrusts in deep, making a harsh, choked off noise; his orgasm is fast and blinding, the kind that starts somewhere in his toes and pulls upward through his spine until everything is white and hazy and all Spencer can think about is how good it feels, how good _Ryan_ feels around him.

When he finally opens his eyes they're stinging slightly from the sweat; Ryan's sort of petting his upper thigh, light absentminded touches. Spencer pulls back and Ryan hisses, sharp and displeased. Spencer twitches a little at the feel of Ryan bearing down on him when he's still oversensitive. Spencer ignores him and pulls out, and Ryan makes a face.

"Sorry," Spencer says, because he's not really sure what else to say. "I need a washcloth," Ryan says.

Spencer goes and gets him one, letting the water run until it's hot. His leg muscles are still a little shaky, like he's learning to walk all over again. Ryan's still in the same position, legs splayed and mouth scrunched up. Spencer wants to laugh, but he doesn't; he just hands over the washcloth and starts trying to find his pants in the complicated tangle of clothing on the floor.

Ryan doesn't notice until he's one shoe away from fully dressed. He looks up at Spencer a little suspiciously, as though it's not obvious what Spencer's trying to do here, which is leave, before this slides from weird into awkward. "Where are you going?" Ryan says, frowning, and Spencer doesn't know how to answer that question, for either of them, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"Don't," Ryan says, and tosses with washcloth into a corner of the room. His voice is soft and tired, loose around the edges. "Spencer, don't pull this shit, come on."

"I'm not," Spencer says, and Ryan says "You are," in a tone that says they've done this before. They have.

Spencer takes his shoes back off.


End file.
